The Winter Haul
by Gumdrop Boo
Summary: There is a reason Vikings hate winter, and Berk is the worst when it is cold. Still some of the happiest, or most surprising and unexpected things can occur during the frozen season :Post movie 3 years; compilation of related & extended one shots:
1. Off Season

The day was cold, one of those regular days in Berk when the there was ice in the wind and it sliced at your face so badly you might have thought an enemy clan had attacked you. It was a regular day of chapped lips, dry skin, and frozen eyelashes—not the most pleasant of feelings. The choices during winter for any Viking were either stay home or stay home and nurse your frostbite.

However, in the blacksmith's stall, sweat dripped from a young Viking's brow as he bent over the forge and hammered at an iron sword—he had the sleeves of his tunic rolled high to his elbows, his fur vest had been discarded long ago, as soon as the fire heated the room. He wore the his smith's apron and leather wrist braces so he wouldn't be burnt by stray embers and so that his hammering would be precise—not a strike wasted. He had no intention of going outside to acquire frostbite—frostbite often took limbs and he had his fill of lost appendages as evident by his absent lower leg.

The master blacksmith, Gobber was out for the evening and so left his apprentice a pile full of swords and axes to shape up for the next battle season. Not even the dragons of Berk stayed for the winter season—the mighty, seemingly invincible creatures had migrated to their volcano island for warmth. Few dragons stayed elsewhere while the world was in a deep frost.

The dragon that the youth was most fond of, known to all of Berk as '_Toothless,_' was most likely cuddled up in front of the hearth back at his lodge, a big black ball, content and waiting for his friend to return. The young Viking was grateful for the Night Fury's extended stay, but knew the dragon couldn't make it to the island on his own, even if he wanted to. This would be the third winter they shared together.

He stood straight and wiped at his brow, swishing away some russet locks that had fallen into his eye.

_What I wouldn't give for a dragon that had opposable thumbs, _he thought, reasoning the time would go by faster, not to mention be more fun if his dragon could help him with his work. Instead of the forge he could have Toothless melt all the iron in seconds with his near-liquid lightening fire breath. But instead, he fanned the bellows so the flames could burn higher. The higher the flames, the hotter the fire, the quicker the melt. The blade of the sword was tinged orange from the heat. He knew he should also sharpen the weapons when he was done reshaping them, but the excitement of reshaping metal had momentarily left him, replaced by tediousness.

_Well this is depressing, _he thought sarcastically but then realized on a cold evening such like this one, he wouldn't be doing much that was just as equally depressing. Winter was a depressing season all together.

He wished for the thaw of spring when he and his friends could eat fried, salted Icelandic cod over an outside fire, have axe-throwing contests, or fly their dragons through the air without having their face freeze into one expression.

He shook his head at his thoughts, knowing they would only make him yearn more for the warmer seasons among other things. He dragged a hand through his hair and cracked his back of a knot that had formed. He removed the blade and stuck into the well of cooling water, which created an ominous hissing noise.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm displeased too," he addressed the inanimate object with a cool tone. His frown lightened, "Look at me, talking to a sword. Wow, Hiccup your brain will turn to mush before spring." He sighed and pulled the blade out of the water.

"What's more? You're talking to _yourself _in_ third person_." His forest green eyes studied the edges of the blade and he flipped it to make sure the other side was just as well crafted. He nodded with a satisfied smirk and put it with the finished ones.

He untied his smith's apron and hung it on a knob of protruding wood. The heat from the flames nearly felt as though they were burning his skin off. He grumbled, flustered at the boiling temperature and threw off his tunic as well, it landing across the stall's anvil. He made his way to where he kept all of his construction designs. He _did_ want to go home, to see Toothless; he just wished that he didn't have to go _outside_ to get there. He sat on the stump in front of the desk and laid his head down on the desk, doodling designs on parchment for a new and improved catapult system he had thought of recently.

He heard the stall door open and a rush of chilly air swirled right at him, causing him to crunch up and cross his arms in front of his chest, furiously thinking, _who in Valhalla would show up here this late?_

He grabbed his fur vest and swung it over his shoulders to investigate but froze in his tracks, as though he were already outside in the cold, at a voice calling "Is anyone here?"

He didn't have time to properly don his tunic for the extremely attractive blonde girl wrapped in a yak fur cloak that appeared before him. Her hair was unbraided, falling over her shoulders—not styled into the usual 'ready-for-battle' fashion. She was just in time to witness the hapless young man struggling to fit his arm into the sleeve of his shirt.

She laughed, which was no surprise. She held her Axe proudly as she removed her cloak, for the temperature change from outside to inside was so extreme. He noticed her pale-ridged gauntlets were also missing. Apparently winter was her off-season.

"Holy Hel, Hiccup—this place feels like it's sitting in the dragonfires."

"Astrid, what are you doing here?" He was surprised most of all at her being there—he hadn't seen her since before the first snowstorm. He finally managed to get his arm secured into his sleeve.

"I need this sharpened."

He was confused to why she just didn't take one of her many granite stones and sharpen it herself. She chuckled at his puzzled stare, "What? Do you think a little ice wind is going to keep be cooped up in my home all winter?" Then she shook her head while raising a brow, "I thought you knew me better than that, Hiccup."

Hiccup frowned, "Yeah, well you haven't been around much since Snotlout started courting you last spring."

He _meant_ for her to hear his embittered tone.

"How's Toothless?" She averted her eyes and ignored his scathing remark.

"Toothless is well. He hates ice, as do we all," he replied. His gaze was locked on her though she was not looking at him. It wasn't that he disliked her, or even Snotlout—he disliked the idea of them being _together_. He disliked any thought of her with any Viking, that is except with himself. Not only was she unavailable but also their friendship had weakened because 'Lout was always taking her out somewhere—a new cove or sky spot for them to do Odin-knows-what.

He inwardly gagged at that thought and looked to her battleaxe in his hand. He ran his thumb across the blade and shouted in pain as it cut him—very, substantially sharpened already.

"Astrid, this doesn't _need_ sharpened," he held it out to her, a bit annoyed at her wasting his time. Though, he didn't want her to leave yet, he didn't want her ever to leave—again.

"I know," she sighed. So, she had an alternate reason to brave the cold and find him that evening, he just had to wonder what.

Hiccup stuffed his thumb into his mouth to rid it of his blood. It was a salty, bitter taste. He stared at Astrid, trying to understand her. She had often given him kisses, albeit after bruising his arm. He had thought she liked him—but before he garnered enough courage to do anything about it, Snotlout had moved in and taken the prize.

"Nice beard," she said to fill the silence

It had started growing in a few hairs at a time since he was fourteen but now at seventeen, his chin was boasting short but thick whiskers the color of burnt burgundy.

"Thanks, Ruffnut saw it last week and she tried petting it," he explained, bringing the hand that wasn't partially in his mouth up to pet it himself. Instead of amusement, Astrid's pale blue eyes showed a hint of panic.

"Why was _she_ here?"

Hiccup was secretly pleased Astrid showed a little jealousy on his behalf, still though it wasn't enough for him.

"She uh…stopped by to ask me to forge her a breastplate."

Astrid's mouth sort of hung open, fixed between bewilderment and disgust, "Does this place even do _that_?"

"No, you know Phlegma does that sort of thing since she's the armorist—and—you know can measure—_those_," he gulped gesturing toward Astrid's chest. She gave him an offended look and he dropped his hands with a clearing of his throat, "Girly-parts."

He didn't mean to sound like he was afraid of such things, they were just nerve-_racking_ to think about though—causing his poor brain to spin into a giggling, excited, adolescent tizzy.

He coughed and examined his thumb, "Yeah, we don't make breastplates."

"Can I stay awhile? It's really cold outside, and it's kind of nice just sitting here and talking to you. We haven't done it in awhile."

_That's partially your fault_, Hiccup thought but nodded slowly, finally figuring this was her ulterior motive for showing up at the blacksmith stall after dark. She had missed him.

"So, how is your Deadly Nadder?" he asked, sitting across from her.

"She's all right but she left for the winter. You're so lucky to have Toothless year round," she was smiling in a way that touched his heart—which wasn't hard, not for Astrid Hofferson. He had been smitten with her since he realized girls weren't infected with cooties or weren't horrible, strange creatures that pulled your hair and made you cry only to run back to your mother's bosom after playtime. _Thank you, Ruffnut_, he thought sardonically.

"Yeah, well Toothless is useless during winter. He sleeps most of the time and refuses to go outside. Dad has been complaining that the whole lodge is smelling like dragon."

She chuckled, "I bet he at least helps with keeping the hearth lit."

Hiccup nodded, their home did stay comfortably warm because of the Night Fury. Sometimes, Hiccup would surpass his bed and simply sleep with the dragon most winter nights, engulfed in Toothless's wings.

He looked over his shoulder at the forge, making sure the flames weren't escaping. He hadn't been watching them at all while Astrid had been there. He felt fingers brush his chin, and turned to see that she had leaned forward and held it, "You know, I can still see that little scar through your facial hair."

She studied him while tilting his head up and his heart took to beating faster at her being so close. They hardly ever touched—she was difficult to touch as she was always adorned in spikes or skulls. One of the few times he remembered being so privileged was when she clasped to him as Toothless flung them around in the sky—just after she discovered his secret. Her legs wrapped around him as the Night Fury air-dove, spun, and dunked them into the ocean until she apologized. Now however, he noticed her outfit was just her striped blue-toned tunic and dyed black-leggings.

"Oh?" he let out a breath. He was growing nervous with himself for wanting to reach out and touch her so badly because she was not shielded as she usually was. She wasn't alert at all that he could sense, and he could do it too because she was distracted as her thumb brushed the spot on his chin where there was a small depression of scar tissue. He scooted his hand closer to her knee.

"How did you get that scar anyway?"

He blushed, and gave up on his urge by snatching his hand back to the place it was before, "When I was twelve during the Tiwesdæg of Terror."

"Oh yes—the horde of Terrible Terrors. I had to stay with my mother in the house during that fight. They came in such droves they blacked out the sky!"

"Uh-huh—and of course I was told to stay put but didn't listen and tried to take a few down with my slingshot invention. Then one of the little buggers decided to chomp onto my face—and the rest is history."

Astrid smiled warmly at his explanation, which sent him melting all over again. Her lips were so close, if he could just quickly lower his head and kiss her—but he couldn't bring himself to do it. She was Snotlout's girl now. He had felt such a hurtful emptiness when she left him the first time—and he knew these calm moments wouldn't last forever, however hard enough he wished it would.

"Why did you go with Snotlout? Was I not good enough for you?" he asked quietly and rested his head onto hers and closed his eyes—loving her warmth despite the already warmed room around them.

Her smile faded, and her eyes narrowed before she let go of his chin and removed herself from him. She didn't say anything and that was the most torturous part of the silence.

"Was it my leg? Did you feel that you needed someone who had both of them to fall in love?" he shouted, his heart heavy—he wanted her to explain. He had wasted enough thoughts, sleep, and sanity trying to figure her reasons out.

She whirled around, "Don't you dare! Your leg has nothing to do with it! That battle wound is the most valiant testimony in any generation to this tribe—to this island!"

"Then _why_ Astrid? Why did you even come here tonight? What do you _want_?" he shouted in bemusement and voice full of strain.

He could see there was a wetness brimming her eyelids and she gave a small but defeated smile as she lifted her hands that held nothing, "This."

"You just gestured to all of me," he rolled his eyes, not understanding.

"Exactly."

He shook his head, wishing she would be clearer—he knew that she missed him but she was acting particularly odd all of a sudden—in a way he had never observed her before. He could see she was flushed but also he recognized her look of determination—because whatever Astrid wanted, she usually would go out and get it for herself. The look was practically a burning azure in her eyes.

She suddenly balled her fist and gave him a hard punch into his stomach. He made gasping '_oof'_ noise, not ready for it and fell backward into a sitting position. Apparently, there really was no true _off-season_ for Astrid.

"Why would you do that!"

"That's for never taking me on a date," she frowned. He wondered what she meant by that statement. Was she implying that she _had_ been open to other men's invitations all this while? If that was the case then she was _never_ solely Snotlout's girl. It just seemed to Hiccup that way because her and 'Lout were always together. _Ever since I withdrew myself from her and freed up her time to him_, he outwardly groaned realizing he was the biggest Gronkle-head in existence.

He tried sitting up to apologize but was stunned as she quickly hopped over his knees with her natural agility, and placed herself into his lap as he sat there most awkwardly. He gulped and looked down at her long legs that were suddenly, practically straddling him. She took his chin once more to make him look at her.

"And this is because I'm in love with you—and so you know that I_ didn't _choose Snotlout_, he _chose_ me."_

He tried to comprehend her words but all his thoughts burst into tiny somersaults of explosions because she followed her statement by capturing his mouth with her lips. His eyes fluttered closed noting the slow sensation of the kiss—how it ignited him. He wrapped his arms around her waist instinctively, never feeling so dangerous, on edge, or so absolutely greedy for someone before in his life. This kiss was the Mjöllnir of all kisses—pounding his heart so hard within his body that it could have been Thor himself, hammering at the young Viking.

The kiss was perfect in every way for Hiccup, and when Astrid finally withdrew her lips, her eyes were hopeful, clear, and beautiful as she looked upon him. His astonished face broke into a broad smile as his heart calmed it's wild flying—as unsteady and erratic as newly hatched dragon.

He reached up and held her heart-shaped face—seeing his future—seeing them together always. It was near similar to the relief that engulfed him when the Night Fury set his head in the palm of his hand those three years ago. She was his. She would be Hiccup's Astrid and he couldn't have been filled with any more bliss than he felt at that moment.

He brought her head down to his and pressed his forehead against hers so their eyes were aligned. He whispered, "Well, thank you for summing that up."

She only beamed at him knowingly and he could only pull her closer and embrace her with all his might, deciding he wasn't needed back home anytime soon and that winter wasn't such a depressing season after all.

* * *

**A/N [11-1-2010]: **To everyone who reads this - this chapter started out as a simple HiccupxAstrid oneshot but has since then grow to a completed, four part, 24 chapter series, so if you liked this I invite you to read the whole series which consists of this, '_The Sting of Spring_', '_The Summer's Fervor_', and the '_The Turning Autumn_' :)

_**Original A/N:**_ I don't own any characters in this story-they rightfully belong to the author of the book-series and/or Dreamworks. This was my first (and probably) only one shot I have ever written since I'm used to writing fanfic 60,000 + words. Even this one shot is a little long-oops :/ Still, This movie was wonderful and I'd thought I'd add a little fan hand into it.  
Well hope whoever reads it gets cute shivers and feel free to review if you liked it. Thanks.

Edit: I've changed the story just a smidgen for those who have already read it, just kind a more fulfilling explanation/resolution put into it. It was a suggested idea by a very thorough reviewer:)


	2. A Rough Remembrance

It was a common known fact within the Viking settlement of Berk that there was girl who did three things perfectly: threaten, argue, and brawl. No one could attest to it better than the lass's twin brother. When she walked through the village, her long face was fixed in a scowl, her shoulders were slumped forward—tense as if always prepared to start into it with the first Viking that crossed her. The _fight_ was what Ruffnut always had enjoyed—again, her brother could verify that fact in a heartbeat. She was always up for winning a challenge, a chase, all so she could be called 'champion.' Still after so many years there was one thing that she still had not been a victor in—a prize that evaded her.

Ever since she was just a girl she knew that she wanted the attentions of the freckled, auburn-haired, son of the Chief. He was a scrawny boy—easy to pick on, easy to tease. No other girls liked him. He was quick to blush and even quicker to run away from her advances. She reasoned the more rough she was with the young Viking, the more he should like her—because Vikings are epitome of strength and ruthlessness, and she was just proving to little Hiccup that she had what it took to win his approval. Yet, after all the hair pulling, pushing, and punching she was beginning to think that might not be the way to his heart because he had yet to ask her on a date, and she was still alone.

It was at least midday but the gray shadow of the overhanging clouds that blocked out the sun caused the light to look like early evening. She sat at the window and watched the snow flitter down through the clouds to add to the white-covered ground. She usually didn't have the attention span for such tedium, but when it was winter in Berk—there was hardly anything else to occupy your time. You couldn't help but to remember the little things when the world was frozen solid on the outside. The tall girl hated winter. She couldn't move around as freely and it wasn't safe to be stuck with her twin brother, Tuffnut in the same place for long, for a full on brawl would start after no more than five minutes of civilized interaction. Their mother would crack their heads together often for breaking items around the house during their fights.

So she had locked herself in her room so she wouldn't be tempted to fight-though she wanted to, and so Tuff couldn't have the chance to provoke such instances. There was a ledge of sorts that she was perched on; her long body was seemingly shorter because she had her knees brought up to her chest to keep warm. To anyone who passed by below and looked up to see her, she seemed to be wrapped in a puff of pale blonde hair because in the winter season she did not have it tied into the usual three humongous braids everyone was used to seeing. It helped keep her warm to leave it hanging all around—although it tangled easily and suffered from static cling at the slightest contact with her garments. She glanced at her helmet that was set upon the post of her bed—it hadn't been worn since the last day of autumn. She let her head hit against the frozen windowpane with a sigh.

It wasn't often Ruffnut was alone with her thoughts. Her mind was usually occupied by commanding actions. _Left hook, throw over, dodge, headbutt , chokehold, etc. _Now, with the absence of any physical pummeling on her part—her mind was like an untamed Monstrous Nightmare—flying without control, and igniting fire to shed light on thoughts she had kept away all of final training season. She was itching to join the ranks and go with the fleet to raid the southern islands as soon as the bay thawed, now that she would soon reach adulthood. _Adulthood_, the word seemed foreboding. _Time to go out there, kill some savages and grab me up a husband._

Her fingers instinctively crunched into a fist even though no one was near to punch as she thought of Hiccup. He was such a tease. Everyone knew he fancied Astrid but Astrid seemed to only take an interest after Hiccup became the village hero whilst Ruffnut had been enamored for much longer. It wasn't fair that Astrid got away with punching him either. Astrid could punch him 'till he was black and blue and he'd still have that goofy smile plastered on his face. When Ruff punched him, he'd give her an incredulous, wide-eyed, fearful look before he had to run home and stop his nose from bleeding.

_He's such a whelp,_ she frowned but her scowl let up as she remembered seeing his scathed and burned body laying in the ash as Stoick the Vast held his son—_yet he is braver than I._ She had been fearful of the fire beasts, but Hiccup was daring enough to befriend one—a _Night Fury_ no less and then was clever and bold enough to single-handedly bring down the horrifyingly fearsome Green Death.

Nonetheless she thought her chance at winning him had arrived as soon as Astrid started going with Snotlout. Snotlout had begun the routine of courtship with her a few seasons ago since they had been of age. Most of the boys their age and even older would be clamoring for Astrid's attention. Ruff wasn't _jealous_ of her fellow female comrade but just a little annoyed at how much Astrid loved the attention. She wasn't disappointed that boys hadn't asked her on dates either—they were the ones missing out on a crazy fun time. Her lack of invites wasn't because Astrid was prettier—Ruff could match Astrid in most fields—well all the ones that counted at that sort of thing, but when it came to their tempers most people would rather be with an even minded girl than one with a short fuse. Ruff noticed how the men looked at her—fearful yet wanton. She was the dangerous, attractive creature that no one wanted to touch for fear of injury. The men would go up against furious seas and enraged savage enemies but yet couldn't find the courage to take her on a date. It didn't matter if they were too scared to make a move, it left her to plot how to catch the attention of the young blacksmith's apprentice in Astrid's absence.

She saw how Hiccup's face would twist to disappointment whenever Astrid left with 'Lout, and Ruff thought maybe she could be the one to fill his newly vacant time. You see, nothing about Ruff was considered '_soft_', and she wanted to be closer to the one Viking she knew that could teach her how, to perhaps be a little bit less—well—_rough_.

She tried her best to flirt but Hiccup would shut himself in the blacksmith stall and hammer away at dull weapons and shields for hours. He was probably there now, either working or thinking up a new device to build. He had always been building things, and she thought it was dorky and unproductive but at the same time endearing. He always focused on the wrong things, asking useless questions, and often got off-topic during conversations. He had barely any meat on his bones, would never win a wrestling match, and was too nice to purposefully hurt _anything_. Though for all his stupid little flaws she couldn't help but to like him.

A loud pounding on the door interrupted her musings.

"Ruff! _Ruffles_! What are you doing in there—sewing?"

She gritted her teeth at the sound of her brother's voice, she _hated_ to be called '_Ruffles'_. If any Viking near her dared to call her that, they'd have a black eye before they could blink. What annoyed her even more was how he purposefully asked if she was partaking in some girly activity that he _knew_ she would never do. Sewing was their mother's thing—as she was Berk's primary seamstress. Ruffnut would more likely stab someone with a needle than thread it.

"No! Go Away!"

"Mom wants you to take father's shield for a polishing!"

Ruff groaned and rolled her eyes, leaping off her perch by the window to unlock the door. She opened it to see her brother's sneering face as his gaze darted to something above her.

"Nice hair, looks like you let a nest of rats crawl in there for the winter," he laughed. She instinctively reached out and grabbed him by the laces that crossed over the chest of his tunic, yanking him forward so his forehead hit into the side of the doorway. Her hair wasn't _that_ bad, he was just being an ass.

He shouted and held his head.

"Nice face. Looks like you let a girl beat you up again—oh wait, that just happened."

He glared at her and it was a signal that the brawl was just starting. She leapt away but he caught a fistful of her hair and pulled back causing her to scream and fall to her knees. She felt involuntary tears brush her eyes from the sting of the strain on her scalp. Tuffnut dug his boot into her shoulder blade.

"Say it. Say I am the winner and you are the wench."

She made growling, gargling noises instead, trying with all her might to claw him with her long nails—hating his tone of confidence as he had forced her down by her hair, it was a cheap shot. If it weren't winter and her hair was in braids he wouldn't even dare touch it for while they were braids they somewhat became weapons of their own—with their balled up mass—they could swing around like wrecking balls and knock that smug look off his face.

"I don't _hear_ you saying anything," he milked for her admittance of defeat. He must have just been waiting for the moment he could fight her. He was itching to cause physical violence, which made him good at being a Viking but a horrible brother. In any other season they would have common spats and fight but otherwise made a good team—in the winter they were pure rivals.

"Listen to this!"

She kicked her leg up and caught him in the ribs. He let go of her hair and stumbled backward, "Oh I am hurt! I am very much hurt!"

She ran into the smoking parlor where her mother was mending a stack of tunics that had been torn through at the last battle—nearly two months prior.

"Can you-?" she asked, looking up, unaware her daughter was in the process of fleeing from her son.

"Take dad's shield to get polished? I'm on it!" Ruffnut finished the thought and swung on her winter sheepskin jacket her mother had made—it was double-layered for extra warmth—then grabbed up her father's shield from its place over the mantle of the fireplace. She emerged outside and immediately wondered if it would be better just to let Tuff finish his attempted tussle. The air was freezing and her lips immediately cracked in the cold. She didn't dare lick them for comfort—she didn't need a thin layer of iced lip gloss.

Her fingers numbed a few minutes after she had started off to the metal worker's shop. It wasn't so far but far enough to be too cold for comfort. She didn't understand why the shield had to be polished _now._

_ It's never even used anymore_—she thought and stopped trudging through the snow when her stormy blue eyes suddenly widened. This was why she hated winter—those thoughts she kept locked into the back of her adrenaline junkie mind would be unleashed. She hugged the old wooden shield closer as she finished the thought—_not since Dad died._

Her father was one of Stoick's generals—Ivan the Invincible. She wiped a snowflake off her nose thinking, _if only it were true._ Ivan had suffered a horrible battle wound when the tribe had raided the southern islands nearly ten years ago. Usually after returning he would grab his daughter up into his massive muscled arms and toss her in the air and she would squeal with delight, but that time he came home with a part of axe lodged into his chest. She closed her eyes and let the snow gather on her shoulders—he had perished on a winter night, and this was the anniversary. No wonder her mother wanted his old shield to be polished up—in honor of his memory. Ruff felt guilty for she only had tried to forget it had happened.

"_Move your big head Ruffy, I can't see!" the seven year old but still just as unsavory Tuffnut demanded in a hiss, pushing his sister's head down so he could see over it. They were peeking, as quietly as they could into their parents' bedroom. They had heard their father shouting for hours in pain—some sort of infection had made the gash across his chest worsen. They weren't supposed to look but their mother couldn't make sure they were where they were supposed to be and tend to her husband at the same time._

_She wiped at his forehead with a cold cloth, because his skin was flushed as hot as the dragonfires. Ruffnut was always taught to be brave but she couldn't help to feel fear tighten in her chest at seeing her mighty father so weakened. Ever since he had returned, he was confined to his bed. Her mother began to sing a calming Nordic lullaby to her father to ease his mind from the pain._

_They left their parents, returning to playing marbles in the main room of their lodge—Tuffnut every so often beamed her in the side of the head with one to which she responded by way of giving him a noogie. Though they couldn't help but to notice that their father's shouts had ceased and the cries of their mother begin. The next day he was gone—whisked to Valhalla on the Valkyrie's steed. _

Now her whole body was numb, and not just because she was standing ankle deep in snow. She wrapped her numbed fingers around the Nadder Head tooth that hung from her necklace, remembering that her father was the one who had given her and her brother matching necklace's for their birthdays that year. Perhaps _that _was why she was always trying to be the best, to be the most dominant—_because Dad always was_.

A big pair of arms grabbed her from behind all of a sudden, "You look frozen to the bone Ruff."

She became animated again, back to the spitfire she was known to be trying to battle away what she knew to be Astrid's older brother, Svenan.

"Keep your paws to yourself!" she blurted and continued forward to the metal worker's stall.

"Woah, woah, wait a second lassie—"

"I'd love to, really but that would require my fingers to get frostbite—"her voice dripped with sarcasm. She had forgotten about the_ one_ man in Berk, crazy enough to try _anything_ once. She did like her men _crazy_ but he was a horrible flirt. It was common knowledge that a girl shouldn't trust Svenan Hofferson. He was still unmarried at twenty-one years because he was always making girls angry by flirting with other girls, hitting on barmaids, and constantly leaving on long scouting voyages just so maybe when he returned the girls of Berk would have forgotten their anger. She had managed to avoid him for the most part—but her being friends with his younger sister had caused him to take notice of the way Ruffnut had blossomed into the dangerous, attractive creature that she was.

He boldly grabbed her hand—"but _I_ can warm you up—"

She yanked her hand back, not in the mood to play his games, and so then thrust her palm upward, into his nose. There was a cracking sound and red trickled down his handsome face as he looked at her in awe, right before he winced and started shouting. She saw his blood start to freeze, and more of it even stained her dark-ridged gauntlet, "No. No thanks."

She hastily turned and began jogging through the snow, hardly believing she had actually broken Svenan's nose. He would be furious but served him right for getting grabby. She hauled her father's shield over shoulders, suddenly very, very cold and hopped into the nearest stall to hide and to get warm.

"Ruffnut?" she heard a boy ask—and of course it was the one boy she had tried to possess for so long without success.

She straightened up and tried to look aloof, "Yeah—it's me. So what?" She crunched her fist and lifted her arm to give him her usual punch of greeting but he cowered and she lowered it before she could strike. She cleared her throat.

She was in the blacksmith's stall—no wonder Hiccup was there. She stood there holding her father's shield and didn't say anything.

"Was there something—you uh—you needed?"

She rolled her eyes at his slightly nervous voice—as if he said the wrong words she would pummel him. She didn't want to admit she was trying to hide from Svenan, or that she made his nose bleed—poor Hiccup was already so afraid of her despite being her friend. She hid the arm with the blood-stained gauntlet behind her so he couldn't see it.

_Is he my friend only out of fear_? She wondered taking a look at him standing only a few steps away, looking very weirded out. _Is it my hair_? She reached up and brushed at it—only a bit static infected but nothing horrifying. He was waiting for an answer to why she was there.

She puffed out her chest, "Yeah make me some breastplates—I'll be needing them soon for when I go off on battle raids."

Hiccup's mouth sort of hung open—fixed between bewilderment and embarrassment. "Yeah, we don't make breastplates. Try Phlegma, she's the armorist and can measure—" Hiccup gulped and gestured toward Ruffnut's chest, "_those_."

She blushed and inwardly giggled at his endearing awkwardness. She set the shield against the edge of the forge—it wasn't burning at the moment. She saw Hiccup was holding his little journal and a piece of charred, writing birch and figured he had been sketching more half-crazed inventions. She looked down at her father's shield and sighed.

"What's with your shield?"

"It's not _mine_—it's my—" she growled and stopped herself, took a breath, "—it _was_ my father's. I was taking it to the metal worker's to get polished."

Hiccup set down his book, placed the birch behind his ear, and cautiously approached her, brushing his finger over the outer metal ring, "You know, Gobber has some pewter powder that could give this some shine. If you want I could buff it up free of charge?"

She couldn't help but to smile, "Really?"

"Yeah—just let me go get a steel brush—shouldn't take long," he smiled his goofy smile and hobbled into the back storeroom. She rolled the shield so it could set against the anvil. She looked towards the wall just over his desk and saw many little sketches of engineering designs for catapults, and longboats, and even some drawings of Hiccup's dragon Toothless. She thought it was a misleading name to call a dragon that—because the Night Fury _did_ have teeth. At least his dragon was around this season, the Zippleback she shared with her brother had flown to the volcano for winter. She wished it could have stayed, then she could sic her dragon head on Tuff when he crossed her.

Hiccup wandered back and hoisted the shield upward so it laid over the anvil for stability. He sprinkled the powder around the outer ring and then took the steel brush and rapidly scratched the powder in with tiny circle-like movements. She noticed his little beard had grown significantly since she saw him last. Without thinking she reached up and tried touching it—just wondering how soft or bristly it was because she couldn't tell by simply looking.

"Woah, hey—what are you doing Ruff?" Hiccup's eyes bulged and he flinched, tipping his head back so she never even touched a single hair. A deep blush crept into her cheeks, "Nothing, just checking out your beard."

He bit the inside of his cheek and turned a studied frown toward her. She looked away and removed herself, only to slump down onto the stump in front of Hiccup's desk. She knew she should try to flirt in this chance alone with him but she just wasn't in the mood, and it wasn't like he would suddenly like her if she did.

He slowly started up the polishing again—still trying to figure the meaning of her previous action. He was actually, really surprised she hadn't punched him yet. He saw though, the twinge of melancholy in her features—an expression no one ever could recall on her face.

"Ivan the Invincible right?"

Her head snapped up and her face was a pure scowl, "_What_?"

"He was my dad's favorite general, your father?"

She only narrowed her eyes at the blacksmith's apprentice but gave a curt nod. A lump had formed in her chest at hearing someone else use his name in past tense.

"Today is the day that he—" she said evenly but choked up on the last word. She held the back of wrist to her mouth and bit it so the painful heave of her chest was inaudible. It didn't stop the rare moisture from gathering in the corners of her eyes though. She blinked rapidly to clear them, looking up at the thatched ceiling—willing not to show vulnerability—not in front of _Hiccup_, not even in front of herself. She had to stay strong for her own sake—because her father would have wanted her to.

Hiccup saw though and gently laid the shield back against the anvil. He stood in front of her and keeled down on his good leg, "Its okay, I understand."

"How could you? Your father is still _alive_! Viking fathers are supposed to be powerful and my dad was the one who was supposed to be _Invincible_! I was _supposed_ to go on battle raids with him when I grew up! He was almost God-like the way he handled axes and to see that reduced to a man shivering and sweating in his bed—it's just—it's just—" she began to rant hysterically, shoving herself away and wrapping her arms around herself to protect her from her own emotions. Finally one of those tears leaked out of her eye and rolled down her cheek—she felt it drip off her chin, and whispered "_Heartbreaking_."

"I know Ruff," he sighed, his brows knotted to a saddened expression,"I know 'cause my mother died the winter after. She got sick—too sick for any medicines and a day doesn't go by when I wake up and remember that she won't be there to kiss me good morning. It makes a hard hole in your heart to lose those close to us, but you gotta remember they're not gone for good—they're up there—in Valhalla, watching over us." He touched her arm to get her to look at him.

She sniffed, and wiped her nose, "Thank you, Hiccup."

"What are friends for ey?" He lightly smiled and brushed a strand of pale blonde hair away that had stuck to the spot of wetness on her cheek. _Friends_, she thought, _that's all I'll ever be to you, isn't it Hiccup?_

She'd rather have him as a friend than nothing at all. She stood and stretched her long arms over her head as she tilted it and saw he had gone back to work on her father's shield.

He was done soon enough, which was far too soon for Ruff to want to head home and run into Svenan, fight with her brother, and then be alone again with her thoughts.

"There you go, polished and shiny as silver!" Hiccup handed it over into her arms. "Don't get frostbite on your way home."

"I'll try not to," she giggled then her face turned serious. She set down the shield and grabbed the young Viking up into a tight hug, so heartfelt; she nearly lifted him off his foot. She squeezed him with all she had, secretly wishing that someday she would mean as much to him as he did to her. She let him go and grabbed up her father's shield with a deep blush, "Thank you, again."

"Uh—no problem." He was weirded out again. She rolled her eyes and turned to leave but flipped around suddenly and held her fist out, "Don't tell anyone that I cried or I'll beat you black and blue."

Hiccup held his hands up harmlessly, "I won't! I won't! I promise!"

She took a breath and stepped into the late afternoon chill, holding her father's shield out before her and saw how from what little light remained, it reflected off the metal brilliantly. Her smile widened and she turned her head up to look at the sky, catching a few snowflakes on her tongue and taking a small comfort in knowing her father was up there, in Valhalla, always watching over her.

* * *

A/N: I guess I lied. I did write another one shot-and sorry it is so dark but I had the urge to kind of do character sketches, delve into pasts and details I noticed in the movie. This story stems off my reasoning Ruff and Tuff run so wild is since their mother is busy and their father is not around. Maybe I'll do some more of these little one shots, they're fun to write. Feel free to drop a review :P


	3. Rarity of Recreation

Most Vikings suffered from extreme boredom while the sky spit snow from above or the ice froze over all outside surfaces. They couldn't raid, couldn't train, and couldn't even spend time with their fire beasts. However for one young Viking, winter was the best season of all because it allowed them to partake in one of their favorite hobbies.

_The fire dwarf entered the cave of mystery, a dark dank place that smelled of death and defeat. But lo! What is this? It's a den serpent with fierce fangs and looking for a Dwarf Dinner! The serpent lashes out—_

_ "The fire dwarf does a somersault and dodges the bite!"_

"No! No, you can't do that—you have to roll the dice first! If you get less than a four then you get bitten! Also with your negative two agility your chances are looking bleak."

Fishlegs tossed one of the dice, which were carved of a sheep's bone at the younger Viking, a fellow _Dens & Dwarves _player named Slugwing.

Slugwing shook the die vigorously before releasing it onto the table top. The boys watched adamantly as the die faced, showing two scrawl marks. Slugwing slammed his hands on the table in frustration, "Why can't I just dodge it?"

"Because it bit you!" Fishlegs reasoned then crossed his beefy arms.

"Who says?"

"Me! I'm the _Denmaster_ so I make up the rules," he frowned.

"Where are we? I thought we were in the forest of Solitude? There can't be monsters there! It's supposed to be empty!" Slugwing gestured to the empty tankard on the table that was supposed to be the layout of the map.

"No, no we are in the Caverns of Trickery—a maze of tunnels so vast the Midgard Serpent could get lost in it!" Fishlegs in turn pointed to the unlit candlestick a few inches below the tankard.

"I'm done playing, this is too complicated!"

With that, Slugwing shoved away from the table and left. Fishlegs groaned and rubbed his eye. He had been trying to popularize the game he had invented and developed over the many previous winter seasons, but it seemed that most Vikings would rather be taken with boredom than join in on a game. None of the Vikings his own age would participate in a _Dens & Dwarves _game so he had to look toward younger, open-minded Vikings within the village to teach how to play, and even then it was still difficult to find someone willing.

He grabbed his dice and stuffed them into a little leather bag that tied around his belt—figuring he better do something socially productive before his parents chided him for hiding in the basement of the lodge all day. The basement smelled of animal fat, a rather horrible smell but Fishlegs had grown used to it over the years. His mother was a chandler, a candle-maker and used the excess animal fat to mold into candlesticks that were used throughout Berk.

His mother would soon take over the basement to make more candles. Such things were a necessity during those dark, dank, days of cold. They could be used for light, even to tell time with the speed at which they burnt. As he climbed the stairs, the smell of animal fat melted into that of freshly-baked bread as his father, when not attending battles, was the most passionate baker in Berk.

He hit his head as he climbed the stairs, wincing and rubbing at it. He was one of the tallest Vikings in the Village—nearly Stoick the Vast's height. He was also one of the biggest. Over the training seasons he had developed a great amount of brawn, promoting him to be a berserker when he was to go off and raid with the rest of the adults Rightfully, to any stranger he would seem a force to be reckoned with but to all who knew him, he was as harmless as Hiccup.

Thinking of Hiccup, he wondered what the little fish stick was doing at the moment—it seemed the lad had shut himself away more than usual all season. More so than even Fishlegs, who preferred to stay in his parent's basement, rolling dice. Hiccup had tried to play a game of _Dens & Dwarves_ with Fishlegs at one point but his attention span could not handle the required focus needed to play imaginary roles.

Snotlout and Tuffnut only laughed mockingly if Fishlegs invited them to play, and the girls never showed interest in such a game. He was alone in his world of Dens and Dwarves.

If there ever was a rare day of sunshine, the inhabitants of Berk might go out and compete in winter games, but never for long because the frostbite would set in. There was one activity that Vikings did turn to often—well the ones who were old enough—and that was spending evenings in the great hall, playing ale-games. Ale was a necessity on long Viking voyages for it provided the raiders with adequate refreshment. Any water was too contaminated to consume so it was suggested they start building a tolerance to the bitter-tasting yet slightly healthier alternative. When a Viking aged sixteen years, they had the chance to prove they could hold their ale, if they got sick—then they couldn't drink during evenings in the great hall until the next year when they had the chance at it again. This process would continue until the Viking turned twenty years—then if they still couldn't hold their ale, they were shamed as lightweight and weren't allowed to join the drinking games.

Fishlegs had failed holding his ale at sixteen but a few months ago he had tried at seventeen years and managed it. It was an accomplishment but the ale in Berk was stout and often left his tongue number than if it were frozen. He couldn't fathom having to be made to drink the stuff an entire voyage. He didn't often go out to join in ale games but decided to make an appearance to see who would be there that evening. He donned his wooly, warm, over-tunic and a long cap his mother had knitted to keep his ears warm. His matted blonde hair stuck out over his ears. At least his chin was warm. He had without a doubt, won the unofficial beard-growing contest among the boys his age. Once facial hair started sprouting forth from their chins and upper-lips, the boys could only wait and brag to one another of how much hair had grown from week to week. They refrained from shaving to better their chances at having their beard the longest. Fishlegs didn't even try and he was very much 'in the lead.'

It had stopped snowing, thankfully. He had stopped counting how many days of straight snow Berk had, but had given up after the sixth. Snow piled up past his knees and soaked the legs of his pants and his boots the whole way through.

He climbed the hill toward the hall, careful not to slip on the iced-over stairs with each step. Wind had blown the snow down the hill and against the many lodges on the south of the village.

The slipperiness reminded Fishlegs of the winter before when Hiccup constructed a body-sized sled from a plank and dull axe blades with a twine string to steer the contraption. The Viking teens and children waited in a long line to ride it down the hill, starting at the great hall and going until they reached the bridge toward the bay. That was a rare, winter day when laughter filled the chilly air in many wisps of vaporous breath. It had to stop though when Fishlegs took his turn and lost control, slamming into the leg of the leather tanner's stall, which collapsed part of the roof. Stoick reprimanded Hiccup for his lack of foresight while Fishlegs got a bloody nose and had to work for the tanner the rest of the season in repayment for the damage.

He finally reached the top of the stairs and pulled open one of the large doors to the great hall. The hall was warm from the enormous fire kept in the middle of the room in the pit. Barrels of ale lined the wall to refill any Vikings' mugs. He saw that Tuffnut and his twin sister were sitting at a table with Snotlout already and partaking in an ale game that involved cards—those three had proven to hold their ale from the start. Astrid was standing behind Snotlout, leaning on his broad shoulders and observing the game—Fishlegs knew she didn't like the taste of ale either as he hardly saw her drink it.

"Two spears beat five axes," Ruffnut laid her hand out for the boys to see.

Snotlout thumped his fist against the tabletop, "If this were real life, five axes would break two spears!"

"Shut up and drink," Ruffnut snarled with a smile.

"Wait a second—I believe _two_ maces beat your two spears," Tuffnut intervened and laid his cards over hers.

"I'll beat _you_ with my two spears," Ruffnut begrudgingly threatened and while Tuffnut was laughing at her defeat, she bopped him in the nose with the bottom of her mug, splashing ale over them both.

"Fishy!" Snotlout cried jovially at finally seeing the burly blonde Viking who had been watching their game for the past few minutes. 'Lout was obviously merry, for when he had many mugs of ale in him, it was the only time he used the name '_Fishy'_ to address Fishlegs. Fishlegs gave a small wave and took off his hat, sitting himself next to Snotlout.

"You want to play a round? We're playing _the_ _weapons battle_."

"No thanks I'll watch—like Astrid," he nodded. Astrid flipped her hair away from her eye and smiled knowingly at him. They wouldn't be the fools this cold night. The twins and Snotlout could manage enough without the lady warrior and the berserker.

The game was interrupted quite suddenly when Astrid's brother shoved himself into the seat on the bench next to Ruffnut.

"Freaking Fenrir, what happened to your nose Sven?" Snotlout asked what most were thinking at the sight of Svenan's face. Astrid seemed to know already—since she did share a home with him—but did not tell. Instead she smiled wryly as a younger sister would at her older brother's pressure to answer a question that had a suspiciously embarrassing answer. Ruff didn't seem to care either way—she immediately turned a cold shoulder to him. Svenan was, in tandem, the most popular and _unpopular_ man with the ladies.

The boys did wonder how it happened though. Svenan had a swabs of material stuffed loosely in his nostrils and a bandage over the bridge of his nose. What was more was that there was a partial black ring under his left eye.

"You know, things don't go according to plan," he shrugged a shoulder and shot a sly look to the tall girl beside him. She didn't see, or rather chose not to.

Fishlegs scratched his head, apparently not understanding the silent conversation between the three Vikings there that knew the truth to Svenan's injury.

Svenan opted into their ale game, trying to peek at Ruffnut's cards all the while. She elbowed him in the ribs on numerous occasions. Every time she jerked her fist near him, he retreated quickly, as if he knew what pain she was capable of bringing down on a human.

"Can I get you another mug?" he offered at one point, despite her being absolutely rough on him. She narrowed her eyes and pointed to her own mug she had filled quite recently that hadn't been spilled on Tuffnut yet—but the look in her eye told them all that the ale would soon be on Sven if he didn't stop pestering her.

"Sven, time to go," Astrid growled suddenly, seeing her friend's patience wear thin, so left her spot behind Snotlout and grabbed her brother's arm quite harshly. She was small in comparison but she didn't win training honors in axe-handling for nothing. She yanked him upward and walked him away from the rest of them, he stumbling all the while.

"He's a little hearty tonight," Snotlout giggle-snorted and threw back a swig of ale even though he hadn't lost the hand yet.

_He shouldn't be the one to talk_, Fishlegs noted wryly at Snotlout's reddened, merry face.

"Three maces!" Tuffnut slammed down his hand unnecessarily, then rudely gestured to the other two players, "I am the world's most deadliest weapon!"

They rolled their eyes, not convinced. Tuff had been spouting that as if it were his own personal catchphrase since his early teens, at any given time he felt victorious.

Ruff and 'Lout drank the rest of their mugs in defeat, and the game was over.

"Want to play Dens and Dwarves?" Fishlegs piped up now that there was a lull.

"Fishy, no one _ever_ wants to play that game!" Snotlout swung his empty mug around haphazardly.

"What game?" They heard Gobber inquire, approaching from behind.

"Dens and Dwarves, sir," Fishlegs straightened up, after all the man had taught him everything he knew about fighting—albeit they were often odd and unproductive methods.

Like the time they had to haul buckets of water from the bay all the way up to the Horner Landing, the highest spot a Viking could get to on foot, only to pour them over the edge and start over again. It built their strength but when they asked the master blacksmith _what_ it accomplished he merely replied, "Waterfalls"

"Ey? Sounds interesting. I'll sit in and wager my ale—what er the rules?" the man lofted himself on bench, propping up his wooden leg.

"Oh, no—it's not a drinking—" Fishlegs laughed but a grand idea hit him all of a sudden. He smiled broadly, "Actually you pick a dwarf you want to be and we make our way across this imaginary land, fighting den serpents and other monsters and wins and losses are decided by dice rolls. Losing rolls you must drink and retry until you roll a win."

"Sounds fun, I'll be a sea dwarf—I hear they fight sea trolls, and sea trolls steal your undies when you travel on the water. That's why I always pack extra," Gobber pointed at them with his hook prosthetic and serious frown, as if he was telling them another useless life lesson.

"What are ye playing here Gobber?" Hoark the Haggard joined the table next to the blacksmith.

"Just some Dwarving Dens and there aren't any sea trolls."

"Ah, yes sea trolls, horrible creatures," Hoark nodded.

Fishlegs explained the game to Hoark as well, but then another adult Viking joined, and then another—all curious and all slightly intoxicated. Finally he got them to pay attention, pick their characters and then gave them the dice. He made a make-shift map from the many tankards and mugs.

They rolled and laughed, and eagerly awaited to hear what monster they would come up against. Gobber's sea dwarf battled a sea troll and lost for he rolled a one. He cursed and took a swig of his ale, rolled again and lost—took another drink.

"My undies!" he cried when he lost the third time, "If this were reality, I'd have no pairs left!"

"This game will send us back to our lodges unconscious!" Hoark roared in laughter, "It's my kind of game!"

Fishlegs was pleased to hear—for the first time—someone say they liked his game. He turned an eye on Snotlout, who was watching in amazement, puzzled at how in the world so many enjoyed what had always been known as '_Fishlegs' weird game_.'

The players got as far as the Mountains of Ill Omen before it was the morning hours and everyone grew sleepy from ale and smoke, loosing concentration and having their eyelids drop more frequently.

Snotlout and the twins had even joined in near the end as 'wandering dwarves' to help fight the den serpents that the imaginary party of warriors would come across. It was many, many mugs of ale later when the Vikings began to disperse back to their homes. Astrid held up Snotlout as he yawned and yawned tremendously.

"I take it back Fishy, that game is kind of fun!"

"Thanks 'Lout," Fishlegs smiled broadly, feeling warm and happier than he had all winter.

"Man that river serpent totally succumbed to my wrath!" Tuffnut bragged.

"Only because you rolled one point more than the minimum to lose," Ruffnut belittled.

Tuffnut merely made a mocking face, mimicked her words in a mumble, and yanked on his wooly winter covering, too tired and intoxicated to try and fight with his sister. He shuffled outside into the negative degree weather, in hopes to get to his home before he had the chance to freeze to death.

"That's a right clever fun game you have there boy! What you say we play it again the next time we do ale games?" Gobber slapped his real hand over Fishlegs' shoulder and questioned as as he departed.

"Oh! Yes! Yes sir!" Fishlegs said with glee, overjoyed at the prospect of playing with multiple people again. He had proven that Dens & Dwarves was an enjoyable game—well with the slight amendment of ale.

Fishlegs began to pull on his winter covering inwardly smiling, wishing Hiccup could have been there as he was the only one friend absent that night. He passed Ruffnut and Svenan on his way out the doors. Svenan was trying to lean in close and talk to her but the man obviously did not know how close to death he was.

Fishlegs decided to do Ruff a favor, "I'll walk you home?"

"_I_ can walk myself home," she frowned indignantly, turning away from Svenan's leering grin.

"Yeah, or _I_ can walk her home!" Svenan slurred, stumbling forward while grabbing Ruffnut around the waist. She pushed him away easily and he stumbled backward.

"I'll walk home with you, Fish," she sighed, leaving Svenan by himself and grabbing her sheepskin jacket. She swiftly put it on and followed Fishlegs out the door.

"You broke Svenan's nose didn't you?" Fishlegs asked after moment, figuring the truth from observing them that night. It was dark out, so he couldn't see very much of the girl next to him but he could tell her shoulders were slumped more than usual as she shuffled through the snow that was as high as her thighs.

"Yeah, like a week ago," she admitted.

"Why?"

"Because he's a jerk! He started grabbing me like I was his share of loot from a raid—"

"He must be crazy," Fishlegs shook his head in amazement but considered his own comment, "I thought you liked crazy?"

"No, I liked Hiccup—" she said but abruptly stopped herself and covered her mouth, in a rare moment of embarrassment. She coughed and surprisingly continued, albeit in one fast exhale, "But he will never return my interest, so I'm going to move on."

Fishlegs didn't know how to respond for he never usually had such conversations with females, much less expected Ruffnut to tell him such things. So he stood awkwardly and waited for them to continue walking. He did not know her that well, only that her father had died when she was young, that her mother was an excellent seamstress and that he had always known her to be vicious with a tough exterior which was a true example of a stubborn Viking warrior—but somehow she seemed softened at the moment, and it made her absolutely beautiful.

Ruff started tromping forward then, ruining the illusion, and seeming back to her normal self. He was amazed at her ability to hide her true emotions. She had sounded so melancholy just a moment ago, he knew no human could shed such serious feelings so quickly in reality.

He walked her to her lodge and to his surprise she spun around quickly and grabbed his hand with both of hers, giving it a hard shake, "Thanks."

"Uh, no problem Ruff," he tried to pull his hand away, taking note that her two were almost enough to cover his one. She held on though.

Since he didn't know her that well, he grew nervous that maybe she was going to punch him for an unexplained reason. Though, Ruff simply stared past him with a frown, seeming lost in her thoughts or concentrating on something behind him. It was growing colder by the second, and he wished she would say what she had to and let him go.

"That was a good game, I'd play again," she broke her concentration and said, then went into her lodge.

Fishlegs stared after her puzzled but shrugged to himself with a smile at her offhand compliment and continued toward his home that would smell of pastry and candles. He reflected on that night of ale, dice rolling, and Ruff's admission and he couldn't help but to feel that winter, though boring and treacherous as the stormy sea, did hold the some of the most happiest and unexpected moments of their lives. Yes, for the burly blonde viking, it was starting to feel like a + 10 winter.

* * *

A/N: I did some HTTYD fanart while I was at it and if you would like an idea of how these characters look a little bit older, there are links to the pictures in my user profile, it's the third one. Again, I'd love to hear any comments you might have for this so drop a review if you feel so inclined :)


	4. Deadliest Weapon

What was it about Berk that kept its inhabitants there? It snowed nine months of the year and hailed the other three, after all. That would be a sure reason to _leave _if anything. The reason couldn't be concluded that it was the only place that had the benefit of a dragon alliance—for that development was very recent compared to history that told of nothing but Vikings fighting the fire beasts.

History, establishment—that was what it must have been, and also the fact that the Viking people were known to be the most stubborn creatures on the Earth. They were already there so why should they have to leave to get away from the cold of winter? The _cold_ should be the one to leave first.

Tuffnut had never considered that the island's history was a part of him. He was focused on the present, always wanting events to happen so the he could get to the next but the winter had seemed to freeze time. They were all moving little movement by movement under the blanket of frost and snow, all waiting for the warmth of the sun to remind them that life was not at a standstill.

He disliked the season as much as his sister but that didn't keep him from trying to challenge it.

He and Snotlout had woken that morning and had gone ice-fishing on the frozen bay. Snotlout had always been Tuffnut's best friend. They trained together and shared insults and curses with good humor. They even shared near identical tattoos of their clan symbol, marked on the inside of their wrists. When they were fifteen, Tuff had swiped a needle from his mother's stores and used it, dipped with ink to penetrate under the top-most layer of skin where the design would be permanent. Tuffnut drew Snotlout's and vise versa. It was painful but they knew that they were not to show it, and in the end it was worth it—cool tattoos and that symbol of brotherhood forever. They liked to live dangerously and take risks for it was all a part of being a Viking.

Speaking of occupational hazards, ice fishing was dangerous because not only was there chance of freezing to ill from the early morning temperature, but also drowning if the ice gave in. Snotlout had managed a hole in the ice without them falling into the sludgy semi-ice below, which was between the surface and the water that was so freezing cold that it burnt.

They didn't catch anything like usual, but jokingly insulted one another's dragons since it was the only time of the year they could get away with it. They continued to banter and then it started to snow again, but still they stayed, proving to winter that they could take it.

"Man, I _hate _winter," Snotlout finally made a sniffling sound with his reddened nose and buried his chin further below the woolen scarf around his neck.

"Who doesn't?" Tuffnut growled. He jiggled his fish pole to see if anything deep down there wanted a try at the piece of salted lamb he had baited the string with.

"If winter was a person, I'd hit him in the face," Snotlout continued his rant.

"If winter was a person, I'd kick his rear straight to the southern islands—then we wouldn't have winter anymore," he grinned as he imagined it.

They continued to smile and brag about which threats they would carry out if the season were tangible. It was about mid morning when winter had prevailed and they packed up their poles and headed back toward their lodges.

"See you at ale-games this week?" Snotlout asked as Tuffnut reached for the door that led to inviting warmth on the other side.

"Yeah, sure. See you later if we don't get snowed in," Tuff waved and entered his home.

"Tuffnut!" His mother shouted from where she sat in the smoking parlor. She was sewing like always. He groaned, knowing she wanted him to do a chore.

"We need water, melt some of the new snow before a wandering animal soils it."

He wanted to point out there were no wandering animals in the winter and if there were, they'd be dead frozen. Still, he stood outside of his house and shoveled fresh snow into a bucket so he could take it into the fireplace and melt it for clean water. He would rather drink ale all winter but his mother was fed up with him being useless half the day under the influence. The biggest fit she had ever thrown was at finding he had let Snotlout draw the tattoo into his wrist at such a young age. His mother seemed especially disgruntled on this day. She must have wondered where he had gone to so early and was annoyed he did not say where. He wished he could do what he pleased without her permission or approval; after all, he was man if not nearly one.

He looked out beyond the village homes to the sea where he had just been sitting hours before—it was a slough of ice hunks and he thought, w_hen that bay thaws I will leave this place for somewhere much warmer, for good_.

Was he giving up? He didn't think so.

Berk didn't seem to hold much excitement for the boisterous lad anymore. Tuffnut had a very high opinion of himself. He felt that he was much bigger than the small village, destined to do bigger things on a grander scale. He wanted to explore the western shore, fight unknown enemies, and above all be victorious and be remembered as the world's deadliest weapon.

"It's snowing again," he heard a voice he hadn't heard for long time from behind him.

"Don't have to tell me twice," Tuff grumbled but grinned at seeing he wasn't the only one being put to work outside on the cold day. Svenan Hofferson, Astrid's older brother was hauling chopped wood in his arms to his parents' lodge, just a few homes past the Thorstons'. Tuff had grown up around the lad most of his life before Sven had graduated from training, and Sven was pretty awesome in Tuffnut's eyes. The man was only a few years older than Tuff but had seen so many things. Sven had explored the new lands, had been gone from Berk again since last spring only to return right before the bay froze. He was usually gone on scouting or exploration voyages; also he always seemed to be smooth with women too. Tuffnut tried to hit on the barmaids in Berk but lacked a certain finesse that Svenan seemed to have in barrels.

"Don't you wish that Hiccup still had that sled from last year?" Sven inhaled crisply and let out his words in breath as a white wisp on the chilled air.

"Yes, that thing was amazingly fast. I'd ride that over laboring in the snow any day during the season."

"So, where is your sister?"

"What? Why?" Tuff's face twisted to bothersome puzzlement.

Sven only smiled a smile that girls would take for charming, "Just wondering."

Tuffnut rubbed the point of his short beard, trying to understand Svenan's intentions but a different thought pushed it away.

"Hey, when do you go onto your next expedition?"

Svenan shrugged, "It depends."

"On what?" Tuff's brows knotted on concern.

"If multiple lasses become angry at me—though I don't plan on doing that soon."

Tuff nodded and smiled knowingly, he remembered the previous winter when three older blonde women got into a brawl right in the middle of the great hall all on account of Sven biting more than he could chew in juggling their attentions.

"Well if it does happen, which it probably will—I'd want to go with you if you needed an assistant, navigator, bodyguard or something of the sort—because I _am_ the worlds most _deadliest_ weapon."

Svenan guffawed, doubtful, but still in good humor and slapped the younger man's shoulder while holding up all the wood in his other arm, "I'll be sure to consider it. Right now I've got to get some loads of wood back home just in case there should be a snow-in. Say hi to your sister for me. "

Tuff felt a little at ease, knowing he had put in a good word for himself so he could finally leave the Odin-forsaken isle of ice. He still didn't know what Svenan wanted with Ruff though—she wasn't a babe or anything so he didn't think Sven was going to try and make a move on her.

He finished up with the snow and went inside, thankful for the warm air that soothed his iced skin. Even through his many layers of garments his skin held the chill that of permafrost. He stomped out the snow that had gathered on the soles of his furry boots at the entrance and then removed a few of his winter layers before taking the bucket of snow to hang over the hearth.

He watched the snow on top start to buckle as the bottom layer turned to water above the licks of flame. He imagined that he and Snotlout were tiny people and sitting in the top, sinking, and sinking as the melt engulfed them. Tuff blinked and swiped his hand over his face with tediousness.

Winter. Was. So. Slow.

He wondered then really where his twin sister was, for he hadn't seen her in awhile and he felt like annoying her to pass time. He saw the door to her room was shut—probably locked too. Ruff hated winter just as much as he but he didn't know how she could cope by shutting herself away. He knew almost everything about his sister—after all, he had been with her since birth.

He knew her favorite jokes, most-used fight moves, how to con her into doing his chores, her weaknesses, and her reactions down to the seconds. He knew that she secretly would dance around her room before she went to bed at nights, for he could hear her humming through the walls and then often crash into something or fall with a clatter. He even knew of her dorky crush on Hiccup.

He knew just what to say to provoke her to fight him, and sometimes he didn't care because he was always up for extra-curricular training. He flexed his muscles out of habit, and then wished he could have been putting them to better use, like fighting something.

_If only there was a way to lure her out of the room,_ he thought with a dangerous mischievousness.

"Tuffnut!" He heard his mother call. He slumped his shoulders and trudged back to the smoking parlor. He grabbed the bucket of now what was water and then poured it into a barrel near the kitchen. He was about to repeat the process, starting to don his layers but his mother suddenly stopped him.

"Son, since you are doing that—can you ask your sister if she could take—_his_ shield," his mother stopped as her words caught in her throat. He turned and glanced over above the fireplace at the rounded shield that had not seen battle action in nearly a decade, and he remembered why his mother was the way she was.

"I'd like it to be polished," she took in a breath and returned to her hardened voice and even harder stitching toward the tunic across her lap.

"Yeah, I guess I can ask her," Tuff turned and headed back toward her room. He stood before Ruff's door and then slammed his fist against it, demanding she do what their mother wanted instead of asking like he was initially supposed to. Ruff creaked open the door with scowl of acid, and her hair was puffy and tangled because she wore it down in the winter.

Then it started: he insulted her, she was provoked and felt the need to physically respond, then he was mildly wounded, and in turn caused her pain. In that instance, it was by grabbing a handful of her hair and demanding her to admit defeat but Ruff kicked him the ribs and made the escape. He was feeling his adrenaline rushing after the thirty second tussle, and wanted nothing more than to finish it but by the time he made it to the parlor she had whisked away their deceased father's shield and had taken it to be polished.

He had respected his father, Ivan the Invincible—and of course was devastated when the man had died from a battle infection but that death affected the women of his family far greater than the son. Though, at seven years old, and then the only man of the house—he had to suck it up and take care of them, be brave, and not let his feelings overtake him. He didn't even know what he felt anymore besides all things physical—like pain and cold. Oh wait, he did—he felt bored out of his skull.

His mother's sudden tears made him break out of his thoughts, and that did cause him to feel something. A pierce of guilt and an overwhelming worry for her.

"Mom?"

"Apologies just have a stitch in my eye," she wiped at her eye vigorously, batting him away as if nothing was cause for concern.

He knew she was just saying that to ease his mind. He set down his bucket and bent over to face her at eye level, "Mom, you're upset. What is it now?"

Her lips trembled as she scowled through new tears, "OH! Curse ye and your blood for battle! It's my Ivan's day of death and all I can think of is how you will soon be going out to share his fate. I couldn't stand to lose both of my boys!"

She was referring to the planned raid in the spring, the raid of the Southern Islands, the place his father had gotten an axe in the chest by way of the enemy clans. Tuffnut and Ruffnut were planning to go, as it was the first real thing they could put their training to use in—however Tuffnut's plans had changed somewhat.

He realized that she said_ 'lose both her boys', _which was a clear sign that she felt her daughter was perfectly capable of handling battle in the Southern Islands and surviving. This caused Tuffnut to inwardly pout, _Ruff certainly is __**not**__ the world's most deadly weapon._

"Mom, I'm not going to Valhalla that quickly—besides I might—" He was going to say what he had planned but didn't think she would like that idea much better. Instead he moved forward and gave her an unexpected embrace, "I'm just not, okay?"

He felt her return the embrace and pulled away with a grin. She pinched his cheek with endearment to which he jumped back in mortification. He was V_iking. _He was a _man_! What mother would do that?

"Oh, don't be so crestfallen, it's a relief to know at least one woman loves you right?" She snickered with a sly teasing, wiping her eyes of the last of her woe.

"No, other women—_many_ others would love me but cease once they saw you do stuff like that to me in front of them!"

"You know it is so," she nodded.

He shuddered at the thought of introducing a prospective wife to his mother.

He finally continued getting more snow for water. The snow had gathered more significantly than when he was last outside. The afternoon had continued while he had comforted and then bantered with the lady who birthed him.

He heard a clanking of shield and his lips immediately twisted into a taunting smile at seeing Ruffnut return with their father's shield in front of her.

"What took so long?"

"Shut up," she answered, shoving herself inside. Tuff followed with his full bucket of snow.

"Oh I almost forgot, Sven Hofferson told me to tell you 'hello'."

She whirled around, with near nervousness in her expression.

"Whoa, what's that look about? You like him or something?"

"NO! What _else_ did he tell you?" she reached forward and grabbed the collar of his tunic with unwarranted threat.

"You're acting like you have a thing for him..."

He was punched lightly in the arm before she let go, confidant about something. "You can tell Svenan that I'd soon fight a Green Death than go on a date with the likes of him."

"Playing hard to get Ruffy?" Tuff teased, not believing her—he believed Svenan had way too many other girls to chase than to take interest in his lanky sister.

She only narrowed her eyes before placing the shield back on its place over the fire. She didn't say anything and that's when he knew she was serious.

"That son of a troll..." he growled. The urge to protect swinging into him though he very well knew his sister could fend for herself—but that was against creatures and enemies but _men interested in her_? He had his doubts. After all, she was his only sister and he knew what Svenan's reputation was regarding the other girls of Berk. He was not okay with Astrid's brother planning on treating his sister in the same manner.

Ruff saw the spark in his eyes and shrugged, "Don't bother with him, he's learned his lesson."

"What? How?"

She gave a small, mysterious smile—and it surprised him that there some things he still didn't even know about his twin sister, "I'll just say he won't be sticking his _nose _into my business anymore."

"What? His nose was in your business? What does that mean? Are you using code words? I'm gonna _kill _him..." Tuff cracked his knuckles and started ranting in a majority of inquiries—none of which his sister answered. Instead, she went to the kitchen and began to prepare some dinner as the sky was already darkened. Tuff finished melting enough fresh snow to fill an entire barrel. It was a slow process but by the time he was done, his sister had roasted a pile of preserved fish from the autumn stock and placed the platter that held them on the table.

She had learned how to fry, roast, and season fish in the great hall, where they ate meals when their parents were gone from the village on trading or raiding voyages. Tuff wanted to learn too, but was afraid Snotlout would mock him for wanting to learn such a domestic skill. The men knew how to catch fish, skewer them, and simply burn them over an open fire. They didn't want to end up like Fishlegs's father, a warrior who baked pastries during the off-season.

The Thorston family ate dinner together. Often he would crudely mock his sister but quickly thank her for the fish so her sparked anger would settle before she could grab at him. They had always done this, the family meals, the chores, his mother teasing them both and warning them not to fight, then still fighting often but making up for it later. He punched his sister in the shoulder in farewell before retreating to his room for the night—"'Night, try not to trip over your boots when you dance."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she snarled and quickly slammed the door to her room.

He outwardly laughed at her attempt to cover the truth. He could never prove anything about her dancing but enjoyed lording it over her in private. She was not known to be a feminine Viking, and preferred to stay that way.

About five minutes afterward he heard her humming and supposed she was dancing as well—something good had happened for her that day, though he didn't know what and she would never say. How would she cope if he left next season instead of going to battle at her side?

He listened to about thirty more seconds of her muffled hums through the wall, thinking he would miss that when he did leave.

That's when it dawned on him that if he left Berk, he would be missing a lot of things—especially his own history, a good part of what made Tuffnut himself. There would be no more moments of shivering winters with his family, cliff climbing and other risky endeavors with 'Lout, ale-games, dragon-riding—he would have to leave the Zippleback for a part of it was also Ruff''s; he'd leave his past to start a new future. He could no more tear himself from Berk and his sister than tear away his own leg, or arm, or heart.

Sure, it was never perfect, but there were times spent on that island he wouldn't replace for the wealthiest raid imaginable. He would miss the familiarity, the comfort of safety, the times he was used to. His family needed him above all and he needed to be there for him— he needed them, no matter what lies he told himself to think it less true. He was just as a part of Berk as it was a part of him. He had for once, stopped focusing on the now, and recalled the times before—which cleared his mind into knowing what he must do.

He threw off his boots, tied up his long blonde hair and settled into bed with a new plan—to travel when he could but always return to this home. He didn't have to be the _world's _deadliest weapon because he finally realized that he was content enough with being _Berk's. _There was a reason people stayed in Berk—a reason they braved the cold months and the hard times, and that reason was because Berk was _home_.

* * *

A/N: This is supposed to warm your heart and show Tuffnut grow up a little, through self-discovery. Be sure to drop a line if you liked it :) Thanks.


	5. Taking Control

To Astrid, winter wasn't pleasant but it did serve as a great period of rest. All the constant activity of training, axe-handling, flying the Deadly Nadder, running, and other physical endeavors had built up from spring to autumn, she was exhausted—and she was thankful for her off season. She had just finished helping up dinner with her mother in the kitchen. She hadn't felt like eating so she was lounging around the front room until hunger struck her. She sat back into a chair that was lined with fur and took a moment to breath. The season's languid tone was something to be thankful for but yet, there were still issues within her head that even winter's calm couldn't ease.

"Ah, my darling daughter how was your date with Snotlout last night?" her father entered the room and asked at seeing her. He had been chopping wood with her older brother all afternoon and it was the first they had seen each other since the day before. The day was one of the colder ones. There was ice in the wind that howled against the house. Astrid hadn't been outside at all but knew it was so from the frozen air that seeped into the lodge at the door's opening. She felt sorry for the two men who had been out working in it and hoped they had escaped the frostbite.

She shrugged in response, "Not much of one unless you count me having to haul him home because he was merry on ale."

Her father laughed heartily but she did not share the humor in her circumstances. "He is a fine lad, that Snotlout. You are lucky he takes such interest in you."

She wanted to leap up and scream that she wished he wouldn't be so interested in catching her attentions. She rather did not want to catch anyone's attentions that tried to court her but knew it was useless because she was nearly eighteen and the pressure of settling into a serious relationship was on her shoulders. Most men liked her as she would make a perfect counterpart to any romantic match. She was supportive, determined, and easy on their eyes.

Snotlout called upon her most often, and she went with him because he was safer than the men she had not grown up with and known all her life, and he didn't expect her to do anything she didn't want to. She respected Snotlout, as he was a great example of how a Viking should be—strong, brave, and brash—plus he was a good friend but still something was missing in their relationship. He was immature, often laughing at his own crude jokes or making idle threats when he was slightest bit angry. Yes, something was missing and she knew it was that bothersome word, that four-letter word that changed everything in a girl's life—_love_. She was nowhere near to falling in love with that boy.

Who could she trust to love then? Tuffnut? Fishlegs? Hiccup? Tuff was unsavory at best, Fishlegs was strong but shared different interests, and Hiccup had stopped talking to her.

She hadn't even seen him since before the first snow, two months ago. He did not attend ale-games, he avoided the cold as much as Toothless, and he stayed in the blacksmith's stall all day, working. The winter before he at least went outside and even built a sled for his friends and others to ride on. The winter before, they had fun together, they had snowball fights, and perhaps that was why this winter season was one of the darkest she could ever recall.

They had become close friends over the months after his accident, bonding over learning about dragons and axe-throwing lessons. She realized he was just as good a Viking as Snotlout—brave, clever, willing, and with a strong will as well. He was just different. Hiccup became endeared to her over those months for he liked to please and took care in everything he did. She began to notice insignificant things, but yet they made a difference in her change of heart toward the scrawny boy. The way his mouth set, the pattern of freckles across his face, the umber color that his hair turned in the sunlight, the nook in his collarbone that she could lay her head into perfectly while they watched clouds—just even those little things caused her to want to be closer to him. She even kissed him a few times, although to be safe and not serious she would cover her affection with playful physical violence.

Before the battle of the Green Death, nearly three years prior, she was his apprehensive acquaintance. Last winter she seemed to mean everything to him. This season, she didn't exist to Hiccup at all and it tore at her everyday little by little even though she wore an indifferent mask to the observing world.

Her brother entered the house then, carrying more wood behind her father. She smirked at the state of his face, reminded what had happened to it.

"Where were you this morning? You came home later than I, and I had to deal with a hearty Snotlout too."

"I was thinking."

She doubted it. Her brother was not known as a great thinker. She had an inkling to what was on his mind though.

"She really doesn't like you Sven. You should give it up."

"Give up a challenge? Are we not taught that is the last thing we should do?"

Astrid shook her head while rolling her eyes. Sven was ridiculous.

"What about you? At least I'm making an attempt. You haven't even made up your mind of who you would want to choose for companionship!"

She prickled at his words but didn't honor him with a reply. So he continued nonetheless, in a chiding manner that he had no place to have considering his past and his reputation. "Any day now a man will walk through this door and ask father for permission to wed you. He will say 'yes', mother will be delighted, and you will be stuck. Ast, you _know_ it will happen, so you should pick your man quickly—it shouldn't be hard, you seem to have first choice out of any of the girls of age in the village."

Her body had involuntarily tensed. Sven knew by her mannerisms that Snotlout did not suit her taste although she went with him often. Was she holding out? Should she settle? She had always thought she would end up with him, just because he was the alpha Viking of all the males their age but now with that reality closer, she was sure she wanted a different future.

She took a breath but turned the focus back onto her brother, "Why don't _you_ just go propose to the nearest girl if it is so simple?"

He grunted with a small laugh, "Are you serious? The fathers of Berk would never give me permission to marry their daughters."

She didn't enjoy the way he seemed to mock her, so retorted, "Is that why you're chasing Ruffnut—because she doesn't have a father to refuse you permission?"

His eyes widened at her unkind tone, her low blow at him and disrespectful mention of Ruff's deceased father. Immediately after she said it she regretted it. She had no right to say such things. She didn't even think her brother would stoop _that_ low. She was just feeling in a bad mood about her courtship.

"Sorry," she apologized quietly.

"If you must know, I like Ruff because she is the only girl to ever deny my attentions. She always has, and I suppose I don't blame her. Remember when we were younger, when we were children, before when we had no worries about passing Viking training?"

Astrid nodded, for the most part recalling a childhood, but not following where his conversation was going.

"All the little girls liked me, and that was before I broke their hearts. I would give them each a flower and they would follow me around for weeks, teasing and coy like most women when they are lovesick. I picked Ruff a flower, a forget-me-not, she was eight and I was eleven and do you know what she did with it?"

Astrid shook her head, how could she know? She was probably wrestling in the mud while her brother practiced his future of being the warrior Casanova.

"She ate it and then sneered at me."

"So?" Astrid really didn't see what he was getting at, and the behavior wasn't strange for Ruffnut.

"So even when she was young she had no taste for me, proving she is the smartest lass in all Berk."

"So why try to be with her? You already know she'll refuse you."

"She'd rather fight a Green Death than go on a date with me."

Astrid raised her brows to prove her point.

"I have to keep trying—because I look at her," he paused, sighed, and then averted his eyes, "I look at her and I think that if I were to be with her, I could be a better man. She would tell me what was what and not honey any of her words to stay in my favor."

Astrid almost laughed at how trite he was sounding but a tone of serious truth rang within his words. Was he finally ready to grow up and stop his old ways? She didn't know if people could change that easily, especially her brother. Perhaps he just desired what he could not have, and that was all. The reason she was so competitive those years in training was because Svenan had done the best before her. She had tried to live up to the standard that he had set for their parents expectations. Though, his stellar record was tarnished somewhat because even though he passed with extraordinary skill in the ring, he skipped out on most battles to attend scouting voyages. Hel, he was even gone during the season they encountered the Green Death, and he was so very perplexed when he returned and dragons were regarded as friends within the village. It took him longer than most to trust the fire beasts but eventually warmed up to a red-scaled terrible terror that took shelter in the Hofferson Lodge.

"Well good luck with _that_," she said, for there was nothing more to say on his matter.

"Nay, you'll need the luck, little sister."

Again, she didn't know what to make of his words so only watched him as he unloaded the wood into the pile near the hearth. She brought her leg up and rested her chin on her knee, trying to think of what to do about her predicament.

Her thoughts wandered back to the blacksmith's apprentice—she couldn't help it. He caused such a feeling in her, she couldn't place it but it was powerful. It had been so long since they were alone together—laughing, or exchanging thoughts. Their friendship was fine until one day last spring Snotlout asked if he could take her out. She had gone places with him before but that time he asked permission from her father, signaling he wanted to court her. Much to the urging of her family she agreed to go on a formal outing with him.

She smirked, remembering that the evening she first met Toothless outshone any date Snotlout ever took her on, and then—that night she spent riding the Night Fury behind Hiccup wasn't even a date—it was a learning experience and it still left tingles in her when she remembered how it felt flying, reaching out expecting to touch the softness of cloud but touching air, and that closeness to the Chief's son who she had always ever regarded as someone unworthy of her time.

Once Hiccup found out about the new courtship with Snotlout, he slowly withdrew himself from her life. He started regarding her politely, not in that usual way of his, where his eyes would light up at the sight of her and his mouth would set into a lopsided, shy smile.

It twisted her insides, thinking of those seasons before when they would spend time together, picking berries, splashing each other in the ravine cove, and watching the northern lights as they lay side by side in the soft grass of summer. The way he had kissed her one night when they were sixteen—it was a quick peck, as fast as she had ever done to him before punching him. Though he was the one that boldly made the move, and she thought—she thought perhaps he liked her with a greater feeling by the way he bid her farewell, and all with the hint of a promise behind his dark green eyes.

But now, for the past few seasons, his eyes averted to the ground, and his lips stayed even when he spotted her. She had to wonder why he hadn't asked her out. She thought that she meant something to him. Of course, she knew she would never mean more to him than his dragon but after so many months of barely talking, she figured she was nothing to him.

There was a knock at the door but before she could lift herself out of her seat, Sven reached the door in a few strides from his place by the hearth.

"Hey 'Lout," he greeted after he opened the door. Astrid couldn't see past her brother's huge shoulders but knew by his words that Snotlout had come calling. She let out a frustrated breath of air that sent her bangs flying upward. Sven stepped aside and let Snotlout into the room. From behind 'Lout's back, her brother gave her an urging look, reminding her just how little time she had and left them alone in the room. She picked up her axe that was setting beside the chair and twirled it, a subtle threat she didn't feel like being touched.

"Hi," she greeted, sitting back into the chair.

"Hey babe," Snotlout smiled and untied his scarf, letting it dangle over his shoulders, hanging across the back of his thick neck.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to your dad," he grinned and shifted his stance but she saw a hint of nervousness in that movement.

Her eyes widened and her heart took to thrashing against her chest in panic, "About _what?_"

He laughed, "About ice-fishing. Why is there fear in your eyes?"

She knew him enough to tell he wasn't saying the whole truth. She scowled at his obvious lie, "I'm not afraid of anything."

"That's what I love about you."

She was the one who had lied that time. Few things frightened her, but there were two memories that stood out when her fear was overwhelming. First, when she was fourteen and was scooped off the earth in a Night Fury's talons and then left to dangle hundreds of feet with her only safety being that of a pine branch. The second, was only a day or two later when she emerged through the crowd of Vikings to see Hiccup's unmoving body in Stoick's arms. Hiccup still didn't know it but she had visited him every day while he was unconscious and recovering. She just wanted to make sure he would be alright, especially since she knew Gobber had amputated the lad's leg. No one else had risked as much as Hiccup, and she was grateful for his deeds that had saved everyone.

"Babe? Where's your dad?" Snotlout interrupted her thoughts with a hint of impatience.

Her scowl only lifted a little at him but to be safe she stalled, "My father is eating his dinner."

"I can wait."

She made an unpleasant grumbling noise, rather not wanting to have to worry about the conversation the two men might have—no doubt it would concern her and her future. This was moving so quickly. Sven was right. She needed to make a choice and fast. She didn't want to be with a man she didn't love, she wanted to be with someone different, she wanted to be with—

_Hiccup_, her mind finished the thought for her. She gasped, and then brought her hand to her mouth at her revelation, finally pinpointing that feeling deep within her about the lad. It was more than intrigue, endearment, amusement, friendship, or respect. It was love. She loved Hiccup. She was _in love_ with Hiccup.

Her father must have been done eating for he stepped into the room and was pleasantly surprised to see the younger Jorgenson lad waiting on him.

Snotlout leapt up and greeted her father respectfully, not even noticing her sudden, astonished expression. Both men wandered off, chatting heartily, into the adjoining room.

This was moving _too_ fast. Winter was supposed to be slow, winter was supposed to be the season that numbed your mind—not have events occur to throw everything into the icy wind. She wasn't in control of her life anymore, and she always had been.

_Take it back, take control_ she told herself. The problem was that she didn't know what to do. She felt helpless for the first time in her life. How could she have the man she wanted when he didn't even want her as a friend? Svenan entered the room again and stopped his pace at seeing her so spooked as she sat in the chair and stared at nothing. Noticing his movement, her eyes landed on him and she nonverbally begged him to do something.

He shook his head indicating that she had to solve her own problems.

She bit her lip and stared at her axe, suddenly seeing that it could be an excuse to at least talk to Hiccup. It was sad that she had to have an excuse to see him, that she couldn't just go because she wanted to. He wouldn't expect her to, and she wouldn't expect him to understand if she did. He was no doubt working late at the blacksmith stall, and he was most likely alone since Gobber would be at the tavern and Toothless would be at the Haddock lodge. She took a breath to calm herself, having an unclear idea but an idea nonetheless. She hopped up and grabbed her yak fur cloak, throwing it around her shoulders and then clutching her battleaxe to her chest.

"Tell them I went out if they ask," she told Sven. He nodded with a grin, knowing she was going out and getting what she wanted, which she had always done. With a last glance at her brother, she realized that his earlier story about Ruffnut rang familiar because they were alike in what they wanted in companionship—they both wanted something _different._

The ice wind hit at her immediately and she pulled the hood of the cloak over her face despite jerking shivers. The cold was instantly numbing but she made her way through the snow and up the hill in the dark. It didn't matter what the Gods threw at her to test her this night, she would get there, and hopefully what she wanted.

The walk seemed long but the stall was only a few shops and houses away. She passed the twin's home, the tavern, and the amorist's stall but finally, _finally_ grabbed the door handle to the blacksmith's and turned it open. The wind seemed to blow her into the entryway along with some swirls of powdery snow.

She blinked, getting used to the dull light and felt an extreme heat from the forge in the middle of the room. Hiccup was not seen, and her heart sank just a bit. Still she tried, "Is anyone here?"

She heard movement and turned the corner to see Hiccup struggling to get his arm into the sleeve of his tunic. He was sweaty, his hair swooped into his eye, and his bony stomach was partially in view. He was more awkward than usual as he stood before her. To ease the tension she commented on the extreme temperature.

He asked her what she was doing there, and it was a valid inquiry—it was late, and cold, and they hadn't seen each other for a long time, much less had been alone face to face. He finally tugged his arm into the sleeve but not without a visible rouge creeping into his face. Finally he looked her in the eye and she could see that he was just as nervous as she felt inside. Though she was already smiling which probably baffled him—he had always been easily confused.

She knew it was a delicate situation, and she should proceed with caution. She knew what she wanted, and would be damned if she didn't possess it by the end of her visit. First she just had to know, somehow if she meant something to him. Before she walked in there, she had severe doubts about that but from his expression and his tone of voice, a renewed hope was sprung. She didn't know what to say, it was all improvisation from here on out so she took a breath before she answered, knowing she would tell him and inside telling herself, _this time, this time for sure_.

* * *

A/N: We know where this ends up going ;) Just a look into those events that led up to that first chapter, she never could tell what she felt for Hiccup exactly as she knew what she was 'supposed to like' as opposed to what she 'actually liked' in the opposite sex. Lucky for both of them she figures it out before...oh wait we'll have to see what happens in the final, concluding chapter to this one-shot series.


	6. Ode of the Season

Usually a Viking wouldn't want to wake up on a winter morning. Usually, they would prefer to stay in bed, bundled up in their layers of quilts and fur hides and not touch any skin against the cool air that had lost its warmth hours after the hearth had burned out.

However, on this morning a young statuesque Viking could be heard merrily belting out shouts to his favorite ode as he washed his face of sleep, and it was so very odd since usually, he would prefer to be warm in bed on such a morning.

"_We come from the land of the ice and snow of the midnight sun and the hot springs blow_," he chanted in song and then paused, standing straight and mighty to deliver the next line with a swoop of his hand, "_Amber of the Gods_."

Anyone would wonder what had made this lad so chipper during a season that depressed most. There was coldness, snow, ice, but yet the Viking smiled broadly going about his lodge basement and singing while he woke up and prepared himself for the day. He wished that he smelled better as few bathed in the winter and a stale smell settled on the village during the long season.

"_Hammer of the Gods will drive our ships to new land, to fight the horde, sing and cry: Valhalla I am coming_!"

Why was this young man so merry? Why was he so animated at a time that most would be carefully waking to the nips of chill if not still completely submerged in their dreams?

He brushed his fingers through his messy, pointed, dark locks of hair—trying to make them to not stick out so haphazardly. He brushed any crumbs of breakfast from his goateed beard. Once seeing his reflection in that of his sword, he nodded with a satisfied smirk. He checked his pocket to make sure an important item was still safe within it. Should he leave so early? He was impatient to complete the task he had set for himself that day and so had woken earlier than usual. It was an important day for him, and he didn't want to get off-track or screw it up in anyway.

He pulled on his heavy boots and tucked the legs of his trousers into the tops to keep the snow from melting down and dampening his socks. He climbed the stairs to the main floor from the basement, wondering if he should wear his Viking helmet. It was made of polished metal which would take on the temperature of deep freeze if he wore it outside but he thought it made him look cool—especially with the black ram horns protruding from the sides.

While he was deciding whether to sacrifice comfort for awesomeness, there was an unexpected knock on the front door. His parents weren't awake yet so he shrugged and decided to answer it, curious as to who would be paying a visit on a crisp winter morning.

He flung the door open and saw exactly who he wanted to see, noting that he must have had conjuring powers of some sort. _Thank you, Odin_. She stood, slightly shivering while backlit by the rising dawn—but still drenched in the dark of a winter morning.

"Are you going to let me in? It's freezing."

"Well, I guess so," he smiled and raised his eyebrows playfully. She was not amused but that didn't daunt him any. "You got something on your cheek."

He licked his thumb and tried wiping at what seemed to be a spot of ash or soot off her face but she dodged him and rubbed at it herself.

She briskly passed him, the hair of her yak cloak brushing his arm as she did so. She waited for him in the main room. Her eyes darted around nervously but he knew those would be her jitters starting in. Her parents must have told her already, and in her excitement could contain herself no more than he.

"I have something to tell you," she let out a breath and said urgently at the exact time he told her the same words.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, "You go first," he offered generously.

"No, you go first," she waved her hand, knowing he was impatient to tell her of something—and she obviously wanted to hear it since she asked him to go first.

He took a breath, and shook out his hands. She regarded him curiously, seeming as impatient as he. He told himself there was no need to be impatient; they had their whole lives ahead of them.

"Astrid," he let her name out in a breath and then held out his arms to her, "We're gonna get married!"

Instead of joy—which was what he had anticipated from her—panic immediately twisted into her expression. Her pale blue eyes were wide, seeming displeased and in shock.

"I should have gone first," she held her hands to her face and looked away, trying to collect her thoughts.

"What's wrong babe, aren't you happy? It's us! We're gonna be together, live in a cozy lodge, fight enemies together, eventually have us some sons to be proud of, you know?"

Her hands lowered partially and her eyes were staring to the side at him as if he were mad. She must have been overwhelmed, which didn't surprise him for it was big news. Astrid was always the type of girl that didn't like to be tied down or surprised so suddenly. She always tried to be in control. How could she be surprised though? She knew it would happen eventually.

She shook her head, "Sit down."

"What, so you can kiss me and accept?"

She shook her head again, and when he didn't sit down she pushed slightly on his chest so he got the hint. He sat.

She took a seat across from him with a deep frown and seemed at a loss for words. Perhaps they were just coming slow. He hadn't had much experience with future brides before but figured all their words would take some time to say.

"We've been friends a long time, 'Lout—"

"Tell me about it, it seems like yesterday you and I were wrestling in the mud to see who was the strongest. I won of course but you gave it your best shot."

"—so you can understand when I say that I cannot be your wife."

"_You've _always been the best, and _I've_ always been the best and that's why we should be tog—" he stopped, feeling he had missed something. "Wait, what? Run that by me again?"

She bit her lip as her eyes tried to apologize but he already knew the truth before she had to repeat anything.

"I cannot marry you."

He stared at her for a moment trying to discern if she was jesting but her face was serious as stone as she stared back at him.

"But—but—I got your Dad's permission last night!"

"Still, you don't have mine," she stated coldly.

"Well then exc_uuuu_se me for assuming all those months of courtship qualified as your consent. What's your deal Ast? You're acting weird."

She shook her head, and just repeated those infuriating words, refusing him, "I cannot marry you."

He slammed his fist against the side of the chair, unintentionally loosening the wood that made up its structure. This was not what he wanted to hear. He stood quickly and forced her up as well by the shoulders, leaning close to her "_Why_ can't you marry me?"

He had always gotten what he desired, and if not he had always fought for it. It didn't make a lick of sense to him why she would have let him court her for so long if this wasn't what she wanted. He was handsome, strong, and overall a prime example of a male warrior—what on Earth, Hel, or Valhalla couldn't she love about him? Why was he not good enough for her? He glared at her, his joy of that morning all but dissipated in his chest. He let go of her shoulders still angrily bewildered at what she was saying, how she was denying him. He thought of himself to be her perfect mate—but her eyes told him otherwise.

"I'm sorry but I've changed my mind," she looked him in the eye, and then sincerely added, "I'm so sorry."

Reflecting on their courtship, he remembered that her actions spoke louder than her eyes. Whenever they went out together she would hardly let him get near enough to touch her, and she only ever kissed him goodnight by standing on her tip-toes and pecking the spot on his chin right below his lips as he had grown to tower over her. He had only gotten to kiss her fully once, but that was a rare time when she had been drinking ale and just unleashed one on him from nowhere. She didn't cuddle, or hold his hand—and he thought that was just how she was and it would change once they were united.

Astrid stood before him, holding her shoulders as if she was cold but it was more to comfort herself. Why? _He _was the one who needed comfort, after all he had just been denied a bride that he thought would surely be his. They had gone on so many dates together—but the quantity was what he had focused on and not the quality. Now realizing this he had to wonder why did she lead him on? How could she have?

"Sit down," she said, once again. There was a waver in her voice.

"Stop telling me what to do!" he shouted, causing her to step back with a startled stare. Great, now he was losing his head—but he was just so angry and confused by her.

She straightened herself out before stepping forward with determination and reaching up to hold the sides of his face within her hands. She stared at him in the eyes, with a genuine sadness—sympathy at their predicament.

"If you're not going to sit then listen," she requested.

He managed to nod weakly.

"I'm not in love with you 'Lout, and I cannot be joined with someone I don't have those feelings for. You have always been a dear friend and that is why I let you court me, and I thank you for doing so but I'm sorry—I've realized that I will never feel for you more than that of friendship."

She let her hands drop and he caught them, wrapping his fingers around hers—relishing the soft texture of her skin, of which he hardly ever was allowed to touch and now, was never going to get the chance to again.

"Please, can we just try once more?" he requested softly, brushing the side of her face tenderly.

She sighed and pulled away, "I'm afraid not." Then she gathered composure before throwing a farewell embrace around him, her arms nearly not long enough to wrap around his muscled back the whole way, "I'll see you around, 'Lout."

He wanted to grab her and hug her tightly, and not let her leave—what he wanted had been close enough to touch his finger tips to but it was yanked away like a dream lingering on the eyelids of waking. He inhaled deeply into her hair and noticed she smelled like embers and sweat, which caused him to see that she was wearing the same clothes he had last seen her in the evening before, and also how disheveled her hair was, long and loose about her shoulders. He wasn't the best at logical thinking but logic dictated that she had not returned home last night—explaining her appearance and her legitimate surprise at his news. He had waited for her to return a little while after obtaining her dad's approval to marry her, but then figured he would just tell her in the morning.

She let him go and turned to leave but his grip stayed firm on her upper arm, "Where were you last night?" He wondered in a low, possessive tone. His fingers tightened around her arm, but he would never have ever hurt her. He just wanted to know to be sure—a suspicious feeling had dawned on him at her noticing her appearance.

She finally did face him, eyes hard and repeated with a finalizing tone, "I will see you around."

She exited through the front door without looking back. He was at a loss, and fell into a chair pulling that special thing out of his pocket—a silver ring that he had intended to give to her. He ran it across his fingers and then let it drop onto the floor. It rolled on its side across the wood and then fell with a metallic '_clink_' right at the front door she had gone through moments before.

He was still sitting in the same place when his father had woken and noticed his son staring at nothing in particular in the front room.

"Son! Snotlout!" Spitelout called until Snotlout was shaken out of his reverie.

"What?"

"Weren't you going over to Astrid's this morning?"

Snotlout stared at his father, trying to comprehend how long ago the early morning seemed. It seemed like days. Astrid had broken up with him only a few hours ago but the sting of a fresh wound was still felt.

Spitelout raised his eyebrows in urging, "To _propose_?"

His father's words were like salt in that wound—but his father had to be pardoned because did not yet know of his son's misfortune. Snotlout had joyfully told his father the night before that Astrid's father had given him the permission he needed to pursue the lass to the next level. They had celebrated over cups of wine because it was such a monumental occasion.

"Uh, yeah," Snotlout nodded absently and picked himself up, and tying his scarf on. He wasn't going to Astrid's but felt as if though the cold would bring him out of his dwelling misery. He squatted down and picked up the ring intended for her before pushing outside. He was momentarily amazed that the winter could go from a day of solid icy, wind to a sunny day that reflected off the snow banks with a near-blinding white.

He blinked rapidly to clear the glare of sun away. The morning had melted from an ice block to a rare, sunlit day, which had brought many citizens out of their homes and into the slight caress of warmth. He looked around at the joy of those people and felt as bitter as the wind from the day before.

He spotted his cousin Hiccup, leaning on a battleaxe as he locked up the blacksmith's stall. He hadn't seen Hiccup in awhile but something was peculiar about him—the overwhelming happiness that seemed to radiate off the lad. Hiccup had seemed broody all year, but Snotlout figured it was because Stoick had forbid his son from attending the spring battle raid. Hiccup couldn't move as well as he used to due to his leg, and so decided to retire before the end of the final training. You had to pass training to join battle though—those were the rules.

Things weren't all bad for his cousin though, he was regarded as the village sweetheart for what he had done three years ago, and Snotlout had to agree he was a hero of sorts. Although Snotlout was never recognized for helping out in fighting the Green Death—he had risked his life atop that monster, and had even bravely dared to beat it in it's many eyes. He thought perhaps a little more credit was due to him. Yes, things weren't so bad for Hiccup, especially something on this day as evident by the leaner Viking's smiling expression.

Snotlout sniffled away the cold on his nose and marched forward toward his cousin curiously—about three-quarters the way there he froze in his tracks. Hiccup was happy, he was whistling, he was grinning, and that battleaxe he was leaning on for support wasn't just any old weapon—it was _Astrid's. _He knew by the twisted rope she wrapped the long handle in, so what in Hel was he doing with it? He had seen Astrid with it last night, so the only way Hiccup could possess it now was…

A dark, angry feeling rose within him, remembering his suspicions from earlier. The smell of embers, the ash on her face, her mussed hair all made startling sense. He knew Hiccup had always carried feelings for his girl—but thought Hiccup would never _act_ on them, ever. Snotlout could have accepted that Astrid didn't love him, but the fact that she loved _Hiccup_ over him was unfathomable. That scrawny, freckled _whelp_ that still lacked the upper-body strength to throw a bola or wield a broadsword _was_ good enough for her and he was not?

He continued forth in a dangerous fury, Hiccup looked up and his eyes widened in startlement at his broad cousin's swift approach. He immediately brought a hand to his neck and tried acting casual—which was not casual at all.

"Hey—ey 'Lout," he swallowed nervously, which proved he had knowingly committed treachery. As far as Snotlout was concerned Hiccup had _stolen_ what was rightfully his. Snotlout didn't say anything, just gave an infuriated scowl before grabbing Hiccup by the front of his vest and then punching him across the face. Hiccup would have fallen, but 'Lout kept a hard grip on the vest and repeated the blow to the other side as he held Hiccup up.

"I'm sorry!"

He noticed a dark mark on Hiccup's neck that the lad had initially tried hiding. Knowing what it was, and _who_ gave it to him only fueled Snotlout's anger further and greater. His fist met Hiccup's gut and knocked the breath out of the boy but still didn't keep Hiccup from gasping, "I'm sorry! Snotlout—I'm sorry!"

"You always ruin everything!" Snotlout bellowed, finally letting Hiccup fall after another blow to the jaw. Hiccup didn't have the heart to even fight; he just sadly stared up at Snotlout while his eye began to bruise and a spot of blood fell from his lip and tainted the purity of the white snow beneath them.

Hiccup shook his head, "I'm sorry."

"Is that all you can say? You're sorry?" Snotlout shouted, grabbed him up roughly and shook him, "I was going to _marry_ her. She was supposed to be _mine_!"

He shoved him hard back into the ground, and then threw the silver ring at Hiccup violently since he had no reason to possess it any longer. Hiccup shielded himself with his hands but then stared at the ring that had landed in the snow and shined in the sunlight. He took a few shaky breaths, "I'm sorry she doesn't love you but you can't blame _me_ for it."

"Why not? You were alone with her _the whole night._"

Hiccup suddenly frowned, "She's in love with me, Snotlout and I'm sure it has less to do with her spending the night and more to do with fact I never considered her a possession that I had rights to."

If Hiccup thought he had gotten away at a clever backhanded insult that devalued the quality of Snotlout's love, he was gravely mistaken. Snotlout shouted with anger and made a move to strike the lad a hard one but everything was a sudden blur as he was knocked backward after hearing an air piercing noise. He felt snow start to melt through his layers while on the flat of his back, and opened his eyes gingerly to face two bright green-yellow eyes that were slivered threateningly.

Of course the only dragon left in Berk had to be the one that protected Hiccup. It wasn't because Hiccup was the only way and means for that dragon to fly, it was also so because they shared a bond that was so close they were nearly part of each other. The Night Fury made sure no harm came to the young Viking, even willing to set foot into the winter to aid him—because a blow to Hiccup was like taking a hit at the dragon itself.

"Get off of me, _Toothless_," Snotlout scowled at the Night Fury. Apparently the fire beast didn't understand or care what treacherous betrayal his human had committed, only that Snotlout had tried to hurt him. Toothless replied by with a deep growl that vibrated through Snotlout's body. People had been gathering around to see their commotion and his anger calmed slightly, realizing this incident wouldn't be looked upon in his favor.

Hiccup was the golden Viking, cherished for his wit and fast thinking and who had saved the entire village which had cost him a limb at a young age when Vikings shouldn't even have to worry about such things. Snotlout had everything, and causing Berk's sweetheart to bleed was a bad social decision on his part—something he did not think of until now because he was so blinded by rage. Still, he was angry—angry at the unfairness of it all.

"Hey, thanks a lot bud, but you can go back where it is warm. Let Snotlout go," Hiccup had pulled himself up and patted the black scales of his dragon's shoulder. Toothless regarded him and did as was suggested. With a last growl of warning, his talons lifted off of Snotlout's shoulders and then the Viking was free. The night fury leapt through the snow banks back to his warm shelter. Snotlout stood abruptly and Hiccup grimaced while taking a step away to be safe but not without staggering a little off balance and falling back into the deep snow.

He turned to see a good portion of village staring at them, all his friends, and the shopkeepers that had heard the clamor. They were shocked he had done such a thing, especially to Hiccup. His eyes landed on Astrid in the crowd, finally noticing her and he sighed with the whole of his body wishing to Odin she hadn't seen him in such a state. Astrid stepped forward with a cold expression and he looked at the ground.

"I did this," she said, "This is my fault, I should have told you the _other_ reason I couldn't marry you."

"That you're in love with _him_?" Snotlout pointed accusingly behind him, not even wanting to lay eyes on his cousin.

"I didn't think you would go all Thor on him, I didn't even think you would find out so quickly. I didn't tell you to spare your pride, Odin knows how proud you are—but a fat lot it did." She reached down and picked up her fallen battleaxe and stared at the two men in the snow. Her decision had been made, and now _everyone_ knew it—they knew that she had chosen Hiccup over Snotlout and it was utterly embarrassing for him. They knew he had lost his temper and had beaten on Hiccup out of a raging jealousy. Snotlout could never recall a day worse than this. Odin, he hated the winter.

Astrid came closer and lifted herself on her tip toes, bringing his head down so she could whisper in his ear and not have the whole village hear, "This is no one's fault—not mine, not yours, and not his—sometimes life happens, but 'Lout, you have to let me go."

It was even more salt in the wound but as she withdrew herself to go pick up Hiccup from the snow he realized this was just as hard for her as it was for him and was reminded of a fable they were told as children.

There was a boy with a butterfly and he loved it. Though the butterfly yearned to return to the wild, the boy couldn't bear for it to leave him. So he sought out the advice of a wise woman and she told him '_If you love something, let it free. If it comes back to you, it is yours. If it doesn't, it never was.' _

Looking at Astrid, he knew she was the butterfly and he was letting her go—although he also knew that she was never his, he had just convinced himself otherwise to the point it was a lie so he didn't have to face the truth. She never loved him, never could love him in the way she loved Hiccup. He swallowed his pride and leaned over to offer his hand to help Hiccup out of the snow. Hiccup was apprehensive but accepted it nonetheless.

"I'm the one who should be sorry," Snotlout grumbled, knowing it was true.

Hiccup only nodded, accepting of it, forgiving his cousin. Hiccup was a good man, kind of a _twerp_ but still a good man who could love and provide for Astrid just as well as he.

The people scattered, back to their business or inside to warmer places. Tuffnut, who had been one standing in the crowd emerged and patted his friend on the shoulder before they made their way to the tavern for some early drinking after such a volatile morning.

They entered the smoky structure and the few Vikings there had not seen the display outside, they were busy chanting the last line of the ode that 'Lout had been reciting that morning, which profoundly described what he should be soon doing to remedy his actions.

'_So now you'd better stop and rebuild all your ruins, for peace and trust can win the day despite all your losing.'_

The long winter haul had revealed much about them all. It was the last season—that calm point just before adulthood when they had to figure out who they were. In this season of slow movement, tedium, and cold, they had learned a great deal about themselves and each other and maybe that was how winters in Berk were supposed to be spent, after all.

* * *

A/N: Well, that's the end of this series. This was all a look into those character's lives during one week in their winter season, and what they learned, and how they changed or grew up just a little because the season was calm enough to take time to notice. Thanks for reading, thanks to all those who reviewed- it was such a delight to hear from you all! And to those who have yet not stumbled upon this story, I'm always open to more thoughts about it though it is finished, so always feel free to contact me :)

P.S- If you hadn't realized, I blatantly lifted the 'ode' in this chapter from Led Zeppelin's 'Immigrant Song'. This is me giving it credit. You could see someone like Snotlout rocking out to Zeppelin for sure :D


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